


spill it out like a drink

by underwaternow



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Roleplay, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 01:24:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13939563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwaternow/pseuds/underwaternow
Summary: Tyson shifts, curls further into Gabe’s side and announces, “I’d be into it if you kidnapped me.”





	spill it out like a drink

**Author's Note:**

> this is for allie's really excellent prompt from the avsfam challenge, where tyson wants gabe to kidnap him but insists on involving nate, and it's a whole ridiculous thing. this is even more ridiculous than the prompt itself, and probably should've been way kinkier, but! allie, i hope this is somewhere in the neighborhood of what you were thinking and that you like it! big thanks to britta for betaing and encouraging and pointing out that tyson is totally a real life linda belcher, with all his singing. you’re a monster. thank you. 
> 
> fyi, everything that happens in this fic is entirely and explicitly consensual, but they're pretending it's not. the “non-consensual” parts are few and far between, and i feel like it's definitely light enough to not tag, but heads up just in case.
> 
> title is from “say my name” by tove styrke.

Gabe can hear Tyson in the kitchen, singing to himself as he makes the popcorn, a made-up song about their movie night to the tune of what Gabe is pretty sure is supposed to be “Dancing Queen.” Gabe grins at nothing in particular, shakes his head and keeps flipping through Tyson’s DVDs to find a movie. He hasn’t even heard of half of these; he has no idea how Tyson’s watched them all. It never takes him too long to pick one, though, and he settles back into the couch with his selected movie in hand to wait for Tyson, who apparently needs a goddamn year to pop one bag of popcorn. 

“It’s a Gabe and Tys movie night!” Tyson warbles, just slightly off-key and getting louder as he appears in the doorway. He has a bowl of popcorn in one hand and two bags of Sour Patch Kids in the other. “Cuddling, lots of good snacks!” He’s dancing, too, shimmying in his ridiculous red onesie, and when he notices Gabe watching him he grins, swivels his hips a little more. “Did you like my song?”

“Album Of The Year,” Gabe tells him, deadpan, as Tyson puts the popcorn down on the coffee table and drops into the space next to Gabe on the couch, curling easily against him. 

“What’re we watching?” Tyson asks. “It better be something good.”

Gabe holds up the DVD box. “Is Taken okay? I like Liam Neeson.”

“I bet you do,” Tyson leers, winking exaggeratedly. Gabe laughs helplessly; if he had a quarter for every time that was the only possible response to Tyson, even just in the year they’ve been together, he could retire early. “Taken, eh? All right.” His cheeks are weirdly pink.

The first half hour or so of the movie passes without comment, the only sounds from Tyson the constant crinkle of the candy bag; it’s not until Liam Neeson’s daughter is hiding in the bathroom, watching in terror as her friend is dragged out of the apartment that Tyson shifts, curls further into Gabe’s side and announces, “I’d be into it if you kidnapped me.”

“Excuse me?” Gabe asks.

“You know,” Tyson says. “Like, sexy roleplaying. A kidnapping.”

Gabe reaches for the remote and pauses the movie. “What?!”

“You heard me,” Tyson says, sitting up again and shrugging. “You kidnap me and hold me captive. It’s a fantasy.” Like Gabe doesn’t know what a fantasy is.

“But it’s a sex fantasy?” Gabe just needs to make sure he understands this. “So you want me to kidnap you and then…”

“Take _advantage_ of me,” Tyson tells him eagerly. His eyes are practically sparkling. 

Gabe stares at him blankly. “I kidnap you and then force you to let me fuck you?”

“It’s a fantasy, Gabe,” Tyson repeats wearily, as if Gabe is the one being ridiculous. “Fine, whatever, we could pretend I come to trust and care about you first and I want it just as much but I gotta be honest, you’re kind of killing my boner.” He pauses, and smirks. “I mean, I guess it _is_ appropriate that you’d give me Stockholm Syndrome.” 

“Oh my god,” Gabe mutters.

Tyson pats him on the shoulder. “It’s just pretend. I’d be an enthusiastic and willing participant, I promise.”

“You are literally always willing,” Gabe tells him, trying not to smile; if he’s sure of anything, it’s that Tyson is into anything and everything they do together in bed. He’s unashamedly propositioned Gabe on camera at their workplace, for god’s sake. It’s definitely not Tyson being unwilling that makes him hesitate. 

“So what’s the issue?” Tyson asks.

Gabe hesitates, unsure of himself, unsure even of how to say it. “I guess me? Not that I don’t want to do it, but what if I don’t do it _right_?”

Tyson laughs, and then immediately sobers as Gabe frowns, leans forward and grabs his hand. “I _trust_ you, okay? I’m down for anything here, there is no right or wrong. It’d be whatever you want to do.” He’s quiet, face serious and calm, as Gabe considers this, rolling it over in his mind once or twice. Tyson’s complete trust - his _faith_ \- in Gabe is a lot, but it means a lot too, and it makes Gabe feel like it would be worth it.

“Besides,” Tyson adds after a few minutes, dragging the word out and looking coy, “you’d look hot in all black.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Gabe tells him, feeling surer, now. “Be quiet.”

Tyson smirks, leans in and kisses him, hands curling into Gabe’s hair. He tastes like Sour Patch Kids, sweet and slightly tart, mouth warm. Gabe hums a little against his lips. He feels Tyson’s fingers tighten in his hair, lets Tyson get into it before neatly planting a hand against his chest and pushing him back gently.

Tyson pouts at him. 

“I haven’t seen this movie before,” Gabe tells him, reaching for the remote. “I need to finish it if I’m going to kidnap you.”

Tyson’s eyes light up.

They finish the movie without any further mention of Tyson being kidnapped, in a sexy way or otherwise, and Gabe kind of figures that maybe that’s that, after all. Tyson watches Mulan for the six hundredth time and sings along with all the songs while Gabe lies with his head in Tyson’s lap, finishes the Sour Patch Kids and tries to stay awake. He’s still thinking about it later, though, when they’re in bed and he’s got Tyson on his back, sweating and red-faced and clawing a little at Gabe’s arms as Gabe works him open. 

“Imagine if you were my hostage right now,” Gabe says conversationally, twisting his wrist.

“Fuck,” Tyson manages, his voice strained, as he stiffens up. There’s precome smeared all over his stomach, and he’s almost gasping for breath, and Gabe thinks he maybe does want to do this.

“Huh,” he says, almost to himself, and pulls his fingers out of Tyson, just barely brushing them against his hole. “I could just do whatever I wanted to you, nothing you could do about it.”

“Fuck,” Tyson says again, more loudly. “Come on, Gabe, you fucker, I - ” and the rest of his sentence is cut off into mumbles because Gabe slaps his clean hand over Tyson’s mouth.

“Be nice,” Gabe says mildly. He reaches for a condom with his free hand and pretends he isn’t watching the way Tyson’s eyes follow his movement, the way Tyson watches hungrily as Gabe rolls on the condom and leans up and sinks into him. Gabe doesn’t take his hand away from Tyson’s mouth until he’s fully seated, and when he does, Tyson sighs, deeply and contentedly, eyes fluttering closed. Gabe tries to hide his smile in his arm; he isn’t very successful. 

“What if you were tied up right now?” he asks, voice low, hitching his hips forward lazily. Tyson doesn’t open his eyes, but he swallows, licks his lips and lets them part in a way that is just pornographic. Gabe hesitates over the next thing before he says it, but plunges forward anyway: “You’d be struggling to get away, but there - ” and he punctuates each word with a quick thrust of his hips - “would be nowhere to go.”

Tyson moans, then, full and drawn out, and opens his eyes and drags Gabe down to kiss him, his breath coming in shallow pants against Gabe’s mouth. “You’re such a fucking tease, I swear to god, you - ”

“You would absolutely talk this much even if you were kidnapped, wouldn’t you,” Gabe says, conversational again. “Jesus.”

“Maybe if you would _fuck_ me,” Tyson says, snottily, and then he gasps because Gabe braces himself against the headboard and does what he asks, pulling out and slamming back in hard enough to move Tyson’s body up the bed.

Tyson’s loud when he comes, cursing and digging his fingernails into the fleshy part of Gabe’s upper arm and yanking on Gabe’s hair, and Gabe feels a little dazed and beat up as Tyson rides out his orgasm and takes one last huge breath before exhaling, noisily.

“Are you done?” Gabe asks him, just a little mean, and Tyson grins, even as he’s also turning a violent, bright red.

“Yeah. C’mon, go ahead, kiss me - ”

So Gabe does, keeps fucking into him in short, quick thrusts to get what he needs as Tyson holds his face in both hands and kisses him, slow and dirty and deep. When Gabe comes, Tyson swallows up the noises he makes and wraps both arms around him, holding him close as Gabe catches his breath, Tyson laying small kisses over Gabe’s left cheekbone.

“Well,” Gabe says, once he feels up to talking again. 

“Yeah,” Tyson agrees, eyes bright, a small smile on his face as his eyes move over Gabe, taking him in. “Wanna kidnap me?”

“We can figure out the details tomorrow,” Gabe agrees, and Tyson beams and kisses him again. 

“Great. Okay.” Tyson twitches his hips and shoves Gabe off of him unceremoniously. “Move, you animal, this is gross.”

Gabe lands on his back, laughing, and stays like that until Tyson comes out of the bathroom, throws a wet cloth at his face, and gets back in bed and curls up next to him once Gabe cleans himself up. 

“I love you,” Gabe tells him, fussing with the blankets around them for optimal comfort; once he’s settled, he glances down. Tyson’s hair is matted in the back and Gabe tries to comb through it with his fingers but gives up when he hits tangles almost immediately. 

“Love you too,” Tyson slurs against his shoulder, already almost out. His face is soft with sleep and Gabe smiles at him helplessly for a few minutes before turning out the light.

-

Of course Tyson, never one to shy away from a challenge, escalates things dramatically. The next morning, he smacks a yellow legal pad onto the kitchen table before Gabe has even finished his cereal. 

“So,” he announces, writing something at the top of the page and underlining it three times; Gabe cranes his neck a little, slurping up another spoonful of cereal, and reads KIDNAPPING PLAN. “We have a lot to consider, obviously, but I think the best option is that you break in and take me. I, uh. I have a ski mask for you.” His cheeks are already a faint pink. 

“I have to wear a ski mask?” Gabe asks, scraping his spoon through the milk and sugar at the bottom of the bowl. 

“You _have_ to,” Tyson mutters, shaking his head and scribbling something else before looking up at Gabe, eyes wide. “Gabe. Learn to live a little and enjoy something, eh?”

Gabe bites back a grin at the look on Tyson’s face - faint arousal, coupled with annoyance - and says, “Okay. You’re right. I _get_ to wear a ski mask.”

“There you go,” Tyson says, beaming at him. “So, you kidnap me and then, I think if you just drive around the block a few times that’ll -

“We’re leaving the house?” Gabe interrupts, confidence waning again, just a little. The more Tyson talks, the pinker his cheeks and the brighter his eyes get, and Gabe is definitely into it - he wants this to be good for Tyson, to be what he wants, and he felt a lot more confident after last night - but. Gabe was thinking of something more along the lines of dragging Tyson from the couch upstairs to the bedroom while he pretended to shout for help.

Tyson looks at him like he’s completely lost his mind. “Uh, yes? Obviously? You can put me in the trunk, and -

Gabe rubs his hand over his eyes, tries not to audibly sigh. “Isn’t this a little much?”

“Gabe,” Tyson says. “Gabe, Gabe, Gabe.” He gets up and comes around the table, plants himself on Gabe’s lap and loops his arms around Gabe’s neck. “Do you love me?”

“You know I do,” Gabe says, already knowing he’ll clean out the trunk of his car so Tyson will fit in it. Because that’s the thing: he does love Tyson, weirdly realistic kidnapping fantasies and calm, unwavering faith in Gabe and all. If this is what Tyson wants, Gabe knows he’s going to do it. It’s always worth it, anyway, for the way Tyson’s face reddens, his eyes fever-hot and desperate.

“Great,” Tyson says sweetly, clearly having reached the same conclusion himself. He plants a kiss on Gabe’s cheek and leans across the table to snag the legal pad, one arm still wrapped around Gabe’s shoulders. “You’ll be so good, I know you will. Okay.” He clears his throat. “So - you’ll throw me in the trunk, drive around the block a few times, and then Nate will -

“Tyson.”

“What?”

“Why is Nate involved?”

Tyson gets that _I can’t believe you don’t get this_ look on his face, the same one Gabe saw last night when he first floated the idea. “He’s the Liam Neeson character, Gabe. He’s the one trying to rescue me. If nobody’s trying to rescue me then this is way less hot.”

Gabe thinks maybe he’s lost the thread of what, exactly, they’re supposed to be doing here. “I thought the whole point of this was to have super hot ‘I kidnap and take advantage of you’ sex.”

Tyson squirms in his lap, pressing close, and when he speaks, his voice is a lot rougher than it was before. “It is. He won’t be there for it.”

Gabe considers it; when Tyson puts it like that, he guesses he doesn’t see the issue. “Make sure you write down that you should be tied up,” he offers, reaching over and tapping the legal pad. 

Tyson throws the legal pad on the table and turns toward Gabe, both arms wrapped around his neck again, and kisses him. When Gabe laughs against his mouth, Tyson dramatically tosses the pen he was holding over his shoulder; it goes flying across the kitchen and Gabe can hear it rolling all the way probably under the fridge, even as Tyson works his tongue into his mouth. Gabe slides his hand under Tyson’s thigh, digs his fingers in a little and kisses back, enjoying the quiet, desperate noises Tyson is already making.

“Right,” Tyson says breathlessly, finally coming up for air. “Yeah. You’ll tie me up. That’s good, see, now you’re getting it.”

“I should probably gag you, too,” Gabe murmurs against Tyson’s neck; it’s totally worth it for the way Tyson tenses up and actually groans, just a little. Gabe grins, bites at and then kisses the spot near where Tyson’s shoulder meets his neck, the smooth patch of skin just peeking out from under the collar of his t-shirt. Tyson hums, tightens his grip on Gabe just for a second before leaning back. 

“Nate will do it this weekend,” Tyson informs him, running his fingers through the hair on the sides of Gabe’s head and fluffing it up. It’s what he calls “the lion look” and it takes Gabe at least a full day to get it back under control every time. “I already asked him.”

“You - when?” Gabe asks. Sometimes he swears there’s a psychic link between Nate and Tyson; nothing else quite makes sense. 

Tyson shrugs, not quite meeting Gabe’s eyes. “Last night.”

“You passed out snoring almost immediately after we finished having sex last night,” Gabe says. He tries very hard not to sound indignant. 

“Okay, fine - ” Tyson cracks a slightly sheepish smile. “He’s been on tap to be my Liam Neeson for awhile. Just in case, you know? Like, if I ever end up doing this with someone, will he make the call.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Gabe tells him. “Not even picky about who kidnaps you.”

Tyson flushes again. “Well, you were always my first choice. Hey - ” and now he’s moving on before Gabe can even begin to parse that, although his chest feels warm. “Will you make me those Swedish pancakes?”

“Only if you don’t insist on putting syrup on them,” Gabe says, but he’s already getting up.

“Pancakes are meant to be eaten with syrup!”

“Not Swedish pancakes, Tyson!” Gabe takes a deep, calming breath; he will not get mad about this again, he just won’t. “Swedish pancakes are supposed to have berries and whipped cream, not syrup.”

Tyson makes a disgusted face, like Gabe had said _rat shit and hair from the drain_ instead of _berries and whipped cream_. “I’m not eating berries on my pancakes. And I’m Canadian, anyway, I practically have maple syrup instead of blood.”

“You’re an idiot, is what you are,” Gabe mutters, but he’s already getting out the syrup. From the table, Tyson smiles demurely at him.

-

When Tyson walks into the kitchen on Saturday morning, hair damp and combed like it is when he tries to look nice, he’s wearing the snug jeans and the faded, super soft, so-thin-it’s-almost-see-through t-shirt with the hole at the neck that he knows Gabe loves on him. Gabe tries not to smile too widely into his coffee. 

“Hey,” Tyson says breezily, running a hand through his hair unnecessarily and getting out the bagels, and Gabe does grin, then, sets his coffee mug down.

“Good morning,” he says, stepping up close behind Tyson as he stands at the counter to put a bagel in the toaster, lightly skimming his hands over Tyson’s sides and kissing the top knob of his spine, right at the back of his neck. Tyson is warm and he smells like soap, and a considerable part of Gabe wants to tell Nate never mind, don’t worry about it, and just drag Tyson back upstairs right now.

“Stop,” Tyson says, sounding like he means it exactly zero percent as he leans back into Gabe. “Save it for later, Gabriel.”

“I can start now,” Gabe says, mouth against the slope of Tyson’s neck where it becomes his shoulder and disappears into his t-shirt. “It’s fine, there’s enough to go around.”

“Enough to go around,” Tyson mutters, tensing up as Gabe slides one hand across his stomach. “I’ll say, with your giant head.”

“That was weak and you know it,” Gabe tells him as he contemplates getting his hand under Tyson’s t-shirt. Before he can decide, though, Tyson turns in his arms and kisses him firmly, and then puts both hands on Gabe’s biceps and gently moves him aside. Gabe is so surprised he lets it happen, and stares with his mouth open as Tyson walks past him to the fridge.

“I need to eat!” Tyson says defensively, catching the look on Gabe’s face when he turns around. Then he smirks. “Gabe, I need my strength.”

“Fine,” Gabe relents, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the counter. He gives Tyson another once over, enjoying the stretch of the shirt across the back of his shoulders, and wets his lips. “You look good, by the way.”

The tips of Tyson’s ears turn pink.

-

In the end, Tyson had agreed to forgo actually driving around the neighborhood; Gabe had said “but really, what if I get pulled over?” and Tyson had said, “don’t do anything stupid to get yourself pulled over” and Gabe had said, “I’m serious, Tyson, do you want to explain that to your agent?” and that had kind of killed the whole thing. So the plan they’d settled on is: Gabe will drag Tyson into the garage, put him in the trunk, Nate will call and deliver his speech, and then Tyson will be released from the trunk and dragged back into the house. 

Or so Gabe thought.

Instead, Tyson starts in about how Nate just _calling_ Gabe isn’t realistic enough, because how would Nate know how to contact Tyson’s random kidnapper? They’re going to have to come up with something else, he insists. 

“Can’t you just go with it?” Gabe asks him.

“No,” Tyson says, looking at him like he’s the stupidest person alive. “I can’t, Gabe. I need realism.”

“You need - okay,” Gabe says, choosing to let that go. “Okay. Why don’t we pretend that I’m actually _not_ just a random kidnapper? Maybe you know me. Most crimes are committed by someone the victim knows.”

“No,” Tyson whines. “That’s not how it works in the movie, Gabe.”

Gabe sighs, very very deeply, and says, “Then why don’t you just call Nate before I drag you off? That way he’s already on the line when you get kidnapped, just like in the movie.”

There’s a moment of silence while Tyson digests this. Then he scoffs. “Yeah, all right. Good idea, big head.”

“It’s not too late for me to change my mind, Tyson,” Gabe says. It’s a fully empty threat; he’s invested now, wants this almost as much as Tyson does, and based on the smirk Tyson throws him, he knows it.

“Shut up and kidnap me,” Tyson tells him, smirk widening, and Gabe feels a thrill go through him. 

If there had been any doubt left in his mind about doing this, Gabe knows it would’ve gone out the window the instant Gabe drags Tyson up and off the couch and Tyson instinctively relaxes into his arms before remembering he’s supposed to fight it and tensing back up, struggling against Gabe’s chest, Gabe’s arms around him. There wasn’t, though, so instead it just sits in the pit of his stomach, heating him up from the inside; by the time he wrestles Tyson into the trunk of the car, his wrists bound together with the belt from Gabe’s bathrobe, and slams it shut on Tyson’s incredibly satisfied smile, Gabe feels very warm.

He picks up Tyson’s phone, puts it on speaker because Tyson had insisted he wanted to be able to hear it - apparently foregoing that bit of movie realism was no problem for him - and clears his throat.

Nothing.

Gabe checks the display to make sure the call hasn’t dropped, which it hasn’t, and then the volume, which is all the way up. “Nate,” he hisses.

“Oh!” Nate says. “Uh.” He launches into his delivery of the exact speech from the movie, utterly monotone, and Gabe isn’t all that surprised when Tyson yells from inside the trunk, “You’re horrible at this!”

“Hey!” Nate says, cutting himself off in the middle of the “particular set of skills” line. “I’m trying, here.”

“Those skills definitely aren’t acting,” Tyson continues, sounding gleeful. 

Gabe tries to think of what a real kidnapper would do now; he settles for banging on the trunk of the car and telling Tyson to shut up in as gruff a voice as possible. 

“I will, but that was really hot,” Tyson calls, and then he does shut up, at least momentarily, when Gabe does it again, adds “I _mean_ it, Tyson!”

Nate stumbles through the last few sentences of his speech, which are punctuated by comments from Tyson about how if Nate were an actor, he’d only be nominated for the bad joke awards, and hangs up the second Gabe delivers his “good luck” line, which Gabe absolutely does not blame him for. He takes a second to appreciate what a good friend Nate is as he pops the trunk open.

Tyson immediately sits up, because he is a complete nightmare, and says, “That was horrible.” His eyes widen when Gabe grabs him roughly by the arm and yanks him out of the trunk.

“That’s enough,” Gabe growls, shoving Tyson ahead of him back into the house. “You’re too mouthy.”

“Oh, okay,” Tyson says, red flaring up across his cheeks. He’s sweating at his temples already, his hair starting to curl. “It’s like that, huh?”

“Shut up,” Gabe repeats, pushing him toward the stairs; Tyson starts to go up but Gabe reconsiders, grabs him around the waist and picks him up. 

“Fuck,” Tyson mutters, as Gabe takes a minute to steady himself and takes the stairs one at a time. Tyson is already breathless, half hard in his stupidly hot tight jeans, erection pressed against Gabe’s shoulder, and Gabe tries not to smile too much as he carries Tyson into the bedroom and drops him on the bed, undresses him roughly. When he reaches for the tie that he’d gotten out earlier, Tyson immediately puts his hands above his head, and Gabe pauses. 

“What?” Tyson asks. “You look weird. Safe word, okay, I forgot it, but - ”

“Are you gonna act like you’re being coerced?” Gabe asks. He’s still trying not to smile.

“Oh,” Tyson says. “Whatever.” He wiggles his hands. “C’mon, tie me up, I’ll pretend I’m trying to get away.”

Gabe does laugh, then, as he ties Tyson’s wrists to the headboard a little tighter than he needs to. Tyson’s eyes are bright and his face flushed as he breathes shallowly and pulls a little against his bindings, his hard dick bobbing against his stomach, and Gabe can barely stand it. 

“You - ” he starts, and then he remembers what they’re doing, sucks in a lungful of air and says, roughly, “Shut up. Stop fighting me.”

Tyson goes still immediately, squeezing his eyes shut. He makes a small sobbing noise; Gabe can’t quite tell if it’s voluntary or not, but he allows himself a second to be impressed by Tyson’s possible acting skills, makes a mental note to ask him about it later. He tries not to be frantic about it as he takes his own clothes off, gets on the bed and jerks Tyson off dry a few times as he digs under the pillow for the lube with his free hand. 

This time, he’s pretty sure the noise Tyson makes is completely involuntary.

“You can go ahead,” Tyson says after only a few minutes of Gabe fingering him open. “Like, be rough, it’s fine.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Gabe says, scissoring his fingers; Tyson makes a choked noise, and Gabe gives him a look, like, _see?_ “I’m not about to hurt you.”

Tyson sighs, loudly, and Gabe will throw him out the window without hesitation if he starts bitching about realism again after how eagerly he let himself be manhandled up the stairs and into this position, but all Tyson says is, “Fine, next time you’ll just have to use a plug on me.”

“Jesus,” Gabe mutters, something hot twisting in his gut at the idea. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Just ready for me to bend over and fuck whenever I wanted?”

“Fuck,” Tyson says, yanking hard at his bindings, squirming. “Come on, God, I - I mean. Let me go, you… monster.” He’s almost as monotone as Nate did during his speech, not even bothering to sound like he means it, and Gabe laughs hard as he twists his wrist and hits Tyson’s prostate. Whatever nonsense Tyson was going to say next turns into an honest to God whimper, and Gabe could fuck him now but instead he curls his fingers a little more, wraps his other hand around his own dick and tugs lazily a few times.

“I hate you,” Tyson is saying, his chest heaving. “Goddammit, Gabe, can you - ” Gabe watches him clench his jaw and shut his eyes before he says, desperately, “ _Please_.”

“Hmm,” is all Gabe says, noncommittally, reaching out and squeezing Tyson’s dick at the base. “You’re not going to come, are you?”

“No,” Tyson says, gasping a little, jerking his hips against Gabe’s hand like that’s going to work. Gabe takes his hand away immediately, fingers him a little faster and casually starts searching for a condom, not in a rush. Tyson is squirming. 

By the time Gabe carefully pulls his fingers out, there are tears leaking out of Tyson’s eyes, and he lets out a wet, choked sob as Gabe sinks in deep and lets his head drop, breathes in and lets himself get lost in how good it is, Tyson hot and tight and clenching around him. 

“Gabe,” Tyson babbles. “So good, Gabe, I’m, please, Gabe - ” He’s incoherent, and Gabe can’t take it anymore, leans down and crushes their mouths together as he starts moving. Tyson kisses him back almost frantically, bites his tongue and moans, loud and drawn out. 

All Gabe can hear is skin on skin, the slick noises of their mouths moving together and the breaths they’re taking between kisses; all of his other senses are just _TysonTysonTysontysontyson_. It occurs to him, as Tyson drags his mouth away and down over Gabe’s neck and collarbone, that maybe he should attend to Tyson’s dick, ignored and neglected, but before he actually can, Tyson tenses up and comes between them. It mostly goes all over Gabe’s abs.

“Fuck, sorry,” Tyson says, his face a blazing red, and Gabe desperately wants to gather Tyson up in his arms and hold him. He also still really wants to come, though, so he settles for reaching up and untying the bindings still holding Tyson to the bed, letting him pull them off and rub his wrists, touching his thumb gently to Tyson’s chin.

“It’s okay. Hey.”

Tyson blinks his still-watery eyes open and looks at Gabe hazily. 

“You’re so good,” Gabe tells him. “I - yeah.”

A small, pleased smile curls over Tyson’s face. “Yeah?”

Gabe nods, leans down and kisses him until he can’t breathe and really, _really_ wants to come. He shifts his hips. “Can I - ”

“Whatever, yes,” Tyson says, stroking his fingers over Gabe’s arms, so Gabe pulls out and jerks off onto his chest, pulling Tyson into his arms almost before he’s even finished coming. 

“You did so good,” he says again, into Tyson’s neck, and Tyson wraps his arms around Gabe and breathes. “So good. I love you.”

“I love you,” Tyson says fiercely, and Gabe just holds him a little tighter. 

-

Gabe grabs lunch with EJ and Mikko a few days later, and when he gets home he finds a DVD of Taken 2 on the kitchen table, adorned with a bow. There’s a Post-It under the bow, three words scrawled in Tyson’s messy handwriting: _Maybe this next?_


End file.
